#sylvia the barmaid

[kalh-plays-dnd]

Notes: Session #5

Summary: Aaria and Zia interrogate a barmaid, Fred and Aurora get pastries and cake, and Viliam eats pancakes.

Aaria, Zia, and Niko head towards the Perlen Tavern. Along the way, Niko splits off to go speak to people in the streets, to hear if anyone's heard of Wish or Rogan Underbite.

At the tavern, Aaria and Zia speak to Sylvia, a human barmaid in her early twenties—blonde bangs, large ear rings, and (in Aaria's eyes) an attractive figure. Sylvia tells them Wish was there a week ago, with three others: a dwarf, a wealthy lady, and a bland guy whose face she doesn't recall. The party stayed overnight in rooms rented by one Rogan Underbite, though the dwarf went out in the evening and didn't return until the morning.

Aaria and Zia get each their glass of a fruity beer called lumiere, made by the local brewery, and get a table. Other patrons include a man day-drinking in the corner, and two people either having a late breakfast or an early lunch.

Fred and Aurora make their way back from the mayor's, bickering like an old married couple. They stop at Böhler Bakery, where Fred treats them to a chocolate croissant (for Aurora) and two slices of raspberry and white chocolate cake (for himself). They make for the tavern, where Aurora reveals she's somewhat uncomfortable with the atmosphere taverns normally garner. Fred reassures her, and they join Aaria and Zia.

Zia takes the stage to play gentle lunch music.

After speaking to Dr Schmidt, Viliam heads to Granny Peacock's Pancakes—a stone-built square tower, two floors, with children's paintings on the lower stones and a little flowery herbal garden surrounding it. Inside, a Alena the firbolg greets Viliam. She has rich blue fur and thick green hair with golden tips. She tells Viliam to take a seat upstairs, and that she'll come take his order shortly.

Upstairs, Viliam finds a panorama view of Waldstad. Most of the tables are small, made for two, with candles and fresh flowers. He sits by the north-facing window and lights the candle on his table. Alena comes up and takes his order. While he waits, he observes the Walden, the forest beyond Waldstad, and sees birds flying across the tree tops.

A couple, two young men, arrive and sit by one of the other tables. (One of them is the young man who served Fred and Aurora at the Bakery.) Alena comes up with a plate of three fluffy pancakes arranged around a blue sugar flower of a design Viliam has never encountered. Viliam asks about the flower, and Alena reveals that Granny Peacock calls it a 'Dream on a Plate'. Viliam asks how the firbolgs came to be in Waldstad. Alena says they travelled there some 2–3 years ago, from some village to the north, and settled here. Apparently the tower used to be a kindergarten.

Viliam eats the pancakes, then heads downstairs to pay. Another firbolg—Gloria—also young, though shorter and rounder, takes the payment. In the corner, Viliam sees an elderly firbolg with greying fur, grey streaks in her hair, and little round spectacles perched on her nose, hunched over a table and a lamp making detailed sugary works. He compliments the flower he had, and Gloria laughs and says Granny Peacock learned the art from her grandfather, but that she's not taught either of her grandchildren yet.

Viliam then heads towards the tavern, where he finds Alvin already warming his seat at Aaria, Zia, Fred, and Aurora's table.

[mochidoodle]

I am so dearly in love with your Royal Guard AU, and your most recent art just reignited my passion for both this specific au and SxF as a whole since the first season ended, and the manga chapters having a slower pace of release.

Would Sylvia be Loid's royal retainer? His chief advisor?

And in your AU, if there are such things as different schools and scholars of magic, what spellcraft would Yuri study in?

Also, Anya is just deadly adorable is a teeny tiny Forest Imp.

Ahh I'm so glad you enjoy it!! To answer your questions...

Sylvia is a renowned and respected scholar. She tutors Prince Loid in history and governance, while other known WISE agents from the series (such as the old mustache man we often see, or Loid's recruiter from the manga) are his etiquette and swordsmanship tutors. Sylvia will eventually rise to be his chief advisor when Loid succeeds his father.

Speaking of his father, I imagine the king to have the same personality as Loid's father in the manga — cold and unsympathetic; focused on matters of war. Loid's mother, the queen, passed away when he was a child. As a result, Loid ends up confiding a lot in his older sister figure, Sylvia, although she does get quite strict with his lessons and he often sneaks away into town. This is where he meets Yor the Barmaid while posing as Loid the Definitely Not a Prince.

✨✨✨✨✨

Yuri would be a mage-in-training at the elite magic academy, Eden. Since magic is very prevalent in this AU, it's not farfetched to say that most education will include the basics of magecraft. However, Eden produces cream of the crop scholars who feed into King Forger's war machine against their neighboring rival, Ostania.

Yuri is personally interested in communication and intelligence runes. Although in this AU he is on the side of Westalis, his research and snoopy personality will get him into trouble with the Ostanian underworld. He and Yor will discover they have ties to the Ostanian dark mage association, The Garden, which will begin driving a rift between the siblings as it pits loyalty to their blood against their loyalty to the Westalian crown.

Briar family backstory: Their parents were Garden defectors who fled to Westalis and attempted to raise their children as a normal family. The Shopkeeper killed them, but not before they successfully sent Yor/Yuri away to a big city orphanage, where they blended in with the countless orphans of war. (Side note: this is also why Yor is unwilling to let Anya go without a family again.) Things will pick up in the current timeline when the Shopkeeper returns to tie up loose ends...

✨✨✨✨✨

And finally, Anya, our little forest imp! She is a rare type of forest imp, even amongst those of her kind, prized for her ability to read minds. Unfortunately, mythical beings like sprites, spirits, fairies, and imps have been hunted for their body parts to create powerful elixirs and magic weapons. Gruesomely driven to extinction by the West-East wars, Anya is one of the last of her kind, and Loid/Yor do their utmost to keep her hidden from military research groups.

And guess who is the son of the president of Westalis Military Mage Tech? Damian Desmond. 🙃

[galatially]

kendra!! imagine pietro in a western au though. he’s an outlaw that’s notorious for escaping capture for so many years. he’s so fast they give him the nickname quicksilver 🤠

JESSIE YOUR MIND!

but imagine that you're a barmaid working to settle your father's gambling debts with the sheriff in old west wyoming. despite the constant leery men and the gossiping church marms, you enjoyed working at the saloon.

when sheriff ross started having his men put up wanted posters of the man they dubbed "quicksilver", one of the working girls, sylvie, regaled you with the gossip.

"they say he hails from texas. killed his wife and sister in a blind rage when he found out she was steppin' out on him. his poor sister just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"that ain't what happened," bruce banner, one of your regulars, piped up. "they say he comes from just a few states over. was the son of some rich fella and come back home from minin' to find his whole family dead: daddy, mama, sister. he's been huntin' the men that did it ever since."

sylvie let out a scoff. "well, did you hear about how he got his nickname? at least four states and ten sheriffs have been chasin' him for eleven years! he's always fifteen steps ahead!"

you shook your head, chuckling. "i didn't take either of you for the tall tale type."

"it's true!" bruce leaned in closer to you. "heard from a fella two towns over that the men responsible were a couple o' ross's boys: stark, rogers, and barnes."

you knew them; ruthless men that had on more than one occasion made their fondness for you more than known. steve, the leader of the trio, had told your daddy before he passed that you'd be his bride come hell or high water.

you shushed him, your eyes darting around the bar. "don't let anybody hear you! ross has eyes and ears everywhere, you know that."

"yeah, bruce, you're gon' get us all killed!" sylvia hissed.

the doors to the saloon swung open suddenly and the room went deathly silent. the stranger was well over six foot, cloaked head to toe in heavy brown leather. his heavy footfalls echoed throughout the bar, the only thing distinguishable on him were the piercing blue eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

he took the seat between bruce and sylvie, those eyes holding you in place. "an ale if you would, miss."

you nodded wordlessly, quickly getting the mug filled. "that'll be five pieces silver, sir."

ten pieces were set down in front of you. your eyes rounded.

"sir, i — "

he waved off your reply, a smirk in his eyes. "i am much obliged, ma'am." he leaned in closer. "but if i can be so candid? is it always this quiet?"

"we don't get many strangers here," you said, smiling sweetly. "what brings you rawlins?"

"oh, i have some business with a few men here. ol' friends of mine." distant shouts grew louder and the man chuckled. he knocked back his drink and spun around to face the doors. to your surprise, he said your name.

"yes?"

"how's about after i finish up with my friends here, we get out of here? montana's nice this time o'year."

you blinked. "what?"

"i got a couple friends out there that are helpin' me build a house. i'm gon' need a wife to tend to it when i'm workin' or out huntin'." he looked at you over his shoulder. "how do you feel 'bout four?"

"four...?"

"kids. two boys, two girls."

your face warmed. "now, hold on, you can't just come waltzin' in here, goin' on and on about marriage and babies, when i don't even know your name."

"sure you do, honey. ol' man ross's got my face done up all over town." your heart sank. "though, i suppose you're meanin' my christian name. that's —"

"maximoff!" anthony stark's gruff voice bellowed.

the stranger turned to face you again, a smirk deep in the corner of his mouth. "but you can call me pietro."

[deeisace]

If anyone's interested in Sylvia -

She was a barmaid in a Crewe hotel too - I wonder if that's how they met, somehow or another - along with her sister Elsie, on the 39 register - and she was 3 years younger than her husband.

If someone got married before the war ended, they would amend the register, so that's why she's Copp Caldwell and her sister is Copp Andrews - tho I'm not altogether certain what "B228 ASA" stands for on the next page - normally that's where you write like "heavy work" (extra rations) or "ARP warden" or whathaveyou

[deeisace]

Small update -

(Here) is a link to another reblog of this with a lot more info (another newspaper article including a quote from Allen and a photograph!)

And! My post arrived!

Here is his marriage certificate!

ID: Certified copy of an entry of marriage given at the General Register Office

1941. Marriage solemnized at St Mary's Catholic Church, St Mary's Street, Crewe, in the District of Crewe in the County of Chester.

Number 157. Thirteenth January 1941.

Allen Caldwell, 21 years, bachelor, Barman. Residence: 46 Martin Street Crewe. Father's name and profession: John Caldwell, Labourer (Corporation).

Sylvia Copp, 18 years, spinster, Barmaid. Residence: 109 Thomas Street Crewe. Father's name and profession: not listed.

Married in the St Mary's Catholic Church according to the Rites and Ceremonies of the Roman Catholics by certificate by me, Edmund Quinn (Catholic Priest), and C Griffiths, Registrar. Twenty three C.G.

This marriage was solemnized between us, Allan (23) Allen Caldwell and Sylvia Copp, in the presence of us, Wilfred Heath and Iris Jones.

End ID.

So! It is our Allen! The age profession and name fits, and the name and profession of his father, too.

I believe the "twenty three" mark is just to confirm the mistake in spelling (Allan vs Allen) has been corrected, tho it might be something else, and is initialed by the registrar there.

I'm quite surprised they were married in a church, tbh, as opposed to a registry office, given the above, but I suppose people can surprise you, how tolerant they can be - the world of 80 years ago might've been worse on a lot of scores, but people have always been people, and that includes the good ones too!

It seems to have been presented generally as a medical thing, as indeed it might well've been - someone previously said it sounds like he's intersex, rather than trans (tho of course you can be both) - and I imagine that helped, some, with people's attitudes at the time?

Idk

Not sure how to end this, other than "look!!!!!"

In the olden days they did things so sensibly. Page 8 of The Liverpool Daily Post, 29 March 1937

[star-anise]

why would your social environment affect if you identify as a woman or nb?

I don’t know if you meant it to be, but this is a delightful question. I am going to be a complete nerd for 2k+ words at you.

“Gender” is distinct from “sex” because it’s not a body’s physical characteristics, it’s how society classifies and interprets that body. Sex is “That person has a vagina.” Gender is “This is a blend of society’s expectations about what bodies with vaginas are like, social expectations of how people with vaginas do or might or should act, behave, and feel, the actual lived experiences of people with vaginas, and a twist of lemon for zest.” Concepts of gender and what is “manly” and “womanly” can vary a lot. They’re social values, like “normal” or “legal” or “beautiful”, and they vary all the time. How well you fit your gender role depends a lot on how “gender” is defined.

800 years ago in Europe the general perception was that women were sinful, sensual, lustful people who required frequent sex and liked watching bloodsport. 200 years ago, the British aristocracy thought women were pure, innocent beings of moral purity with no sexual desire who fainted at the sight of blood. These days, we think differently in entirely new directions.

But this gets even more complicated, in part because human experience is really diverse and society’s narratives have to account for that. So 200 years ago, those beliefs about femininity being delicate and dainty and frail only really applied to women with aristocratic lineages, and “the lower classes” of women were believed to be vulgar, coarse, sexual, and earthy, which “explained” why they performed hard physical labor or worked as prostitutes.

Being trans or nonbinary isn’t just or even primarily about what characteristics you want your body to have. It’s about how you want to define yourself and be interpreted and interacted with by other people.

The writer Sylvia Plath lived 1932-1963, and she said:

“Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling rigidly circumscribed by my inescapable feminity. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars–to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording–all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery.”

She was from upper-middle-class Massachusetts, the child of a university professor. A lot of those things she was “prohibited” from doing weren’t things each and every woman was prohibited from doing; they were things women of her class weren’t allowed to do. The daughters and sisters and wives of sailors and soldiers, women who worked in hotels and ran rooming houses, barmaids and sex workers, got to anonymously and invisibly observe those men, after all. They just couldn’t do it at the same time they tried to meet the standards educated Bostonians of the 1950s had for nice young women.

Failure to understand how diverse womanhood is has always been one of feminism’s biggest weaknesses. The Second Wave of feminism was started mostly by prosperous university-educated white women, since they were the people with the time and money and resources to write and read books and attend conferences about “women’s issues”. And they assumed that their issues were female issues. That they were the default of femaleness, and could assume every woman had roughly the same experience as them.

So, for example, middle-class white women in post-WWII USA were expected to stay home all the time and look after their children. Feminists concluded that this was isolating and oppressive, and they’d like the freedom to pursue lives, careers, and interests outside of the home. They vigorously pursued the right to be freed from their domestic and maternal duties.

But in their society, these experiences were not generally shared by Black and/or poor women, who, like their mothers, did not have the luxury of spending copious amounts of leisure time with their children; they had to work to earn enough money to survive on, which meant working on farms, in factories, or as cooks, maids, or nannies for rich white women who wanted the freedom to pursue lives outside the home. They tended to feel that they would like to have the option of staying home and playing with their babies all day. 

This is not to say none of the first group enjoyed domestic lives, or that none of the second group wanted non-domestic careers; it’s just that the first group formed the face and the basic assumptions of feminism, and the second group struggled to get a seat at the table.

There’s this phenomenon called “cultural feminism” that’s an attitude that crops up among feminists from time to time (or grows on them, like fungus) that holds that women have a “feminine essence”, a quasi-spiritual “nature” that is deeply distinct from the “masculine essence” of men. This is one of the concepts powering lesbian separatism: the idea that because women are so fundamentally different from men, a society of all women will be fundamentally different in nature from a society that includes men.

But, well, the problem cultural feminism generally has is with how it achieves its definition of “female nature”. The view tends to be that women are kinder, more moral, more collectivist, more community-minded, and less prone to violence. 

And cultural feminists tend to HATE people who believe in the social construction of gender, because we tend to cross our arms and go, “Nah, sis, that’s a frappe of misused statistics and The Angel In the House with some wishful thinking as a garnish. That’s how you feel about what womanhood is. It’s fair enough for you, but you’re trying to apply it to the entire human species. That’s got less intellectual rigor and sociological validity than my morning oatmeal.” Hence the radfem insistence that gender theorists like me SHUT UP and gender quite flatly DOESN’T EXIST. It’s a MADE-UP TERM, and people should STOP TALKING ABOUT IT. (And go back to taking about immutable, naturally-occuring phenomena, one supposes, like the banking system and Western literary canon.)

Because seriously, when you look at real actual women, you will see that some of us can be very selfish, while others are altruistic; some think being a woman means abhorring all violence forever, and others think being a woman means being willing to fight and die to protect the people you love. As groups men and women have different average levels of certain qualities, but it’s not like we don’t share a lot in common. The distribution of “male” and “female” traits doesn’t tend to mean two completely separate sets of characteristics; they tend to be more like two overlapping bell curves.

So, like I said, I grew up largely in rural, working-class Western Canadian society. My relatives tend to be tradesmen like carpenters, welders, or plumbers, or else ranchers and farmers. I was raised by a mother who came of age during the big push for Women’s Lib. So in the culture in which I was raised, it was very normal and in some ways rewarded (though in other ways punished) for women to have short hair, wear flannel and jeans, drive a big truck, play rough contact sports, use power tools, pitch in with farmwork, use guns, and drink beer. “Traditional femininity” was a fascinating foreign culture my grandmother aspired to, and I loved nonsense like polishing the silver (it’s a very satisfying pastime) but that was just another one of my weird hobbies, like sewing fairy clothes out of flower petals and collecting toy horses.

Within the standards of the society I was raised in, I am a decently feminine woman. I’m obviously not a “girly girl”, someone who wears makeup and dresses in ways that privilege beauty over practicality, but I have a long ponytail of hair and when I go to Mark’s Work Wearhouse, I shop in the women’s section. We know what “butch” is and I ain’t it.

But through my friendships and my career, I’ve gotten experiences among cultures you wouldn’t think would be too different–we’re all still white North Americans!–but which felt bizarre and alien, and ate away at the sense of self I’d grown up in. In the USA’s northeast, the people I met had the kind of access to communities with social clout, intellectual resources, and political power I hadn’t quite believed existed before I saw them. There really were people who knew politicians and potential employers socially before they ever had to apply to a job or ask for political assistance; there were people who really did propose projects to influential businessmen or academics at cocktail parties; they really did things like fundraise tens of thousands of dollars for a charity by asking fifty of their friends to donate, or start a business with a $2mil personal loan from a relative.

And in those societies, femininity was so different and so foreign. I’d grown up seeing femininity as a way of assigning tasks to get the work done; in these new circles, it was performative in a way that was entirely unique and astounding to me. A boss really would offer you a starting salary $10k higher than they might have if you wore high heels instead of flats. You really would be more likely to get a job if you wore makeup. And your ability to curate social connections in the halls of power really was influenced by how nice of a Christmas party you could throw. These women I met were being held, daily, to a standard of femininity higher than that performed by anyone in my 100 most immediate relatives.

So when girls from Seven Sisters schools talked about how for them, dressing how I dressed every day (jeans, boots, tee, button-up shirt, no makeup, no hair product) was “bucking gendered expectations” and “being unfeminine”, I began to feel totally unmoored. When I realized that I, who absolutely know only 5% as much about power tools and construction as my relatives in the trades, was more suited to take a hammer and wade in there than not just the “empowered” women but the self-professed “handy” men there, I didn’t know how to understand it. I felt like I was… a woman who knew how to do carpentry projects, not “totally butch” the way some people (approvingly) called me.

And, well, at home in Alberta I was generally seen as a sweet and gentle girl with an occasional stubborn streak or precocious moment, but apparently by the standards of Southern states like Georgia and Alabama I am like, 100x more blunt, assertive, and inconsiderate of men’s feelings than women typically feel they have to be.

And this is still all just US/Canadian white women.

And like I said, after years of this, I came home (from BC, where I encountered MORE OTHER weird and alien social constructs, though generally more around class and politics than gender) to Alberta, and I went to what is, for Alberta, a super hippy liberal church, and I helped prepare the after-service tea among women with unstyled hair and no makeup  who wore jeans and sensible shoes, and listened to them talk about their work in municipal water management and ICU nursing, and it felt like something inside my chest slid back into place, because I understood myself as a woman again, and not some alien thing floating outside the expectations of the society I was in with a chestful of opinions no one around me would understand, suddenly all made sense again.

I mean, that’s by no means an endorsement for aspirational middle class rural Alberta as the ideal gender utopia. (Alberta is the Texas of Canada.) I just felt comfortable inside because it’s the culture where I found a definition of myself and my gender I could live with, because its boundaries of what’s considered “female” were broad enough to hold all the parts of me I felt like I needed to express. I have a lot of friends who grew up here, or in families like mine, and don’t feel at all happy with its gender boundaries. And even as I’m comfortable being a woman here, I still want to push and transform it, to make it even more feminist and politically left and decolonized.

TERFs try to claim that trans and nonbinary people reinforce the gender identity, but in my experience, it’s feminists who claim male and female are immutable and incompatible do that. It’s trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer people who, simply by performing their genders in public, make people realize just how bullshit innate theories of gender are.. Society is going to want to gender them in certain ways and involve them in certain dynamics (”Hey ladies, those fellas, amirite?”) and they’re going, “Nope. Not me. Cut it out.” I’ve seen a lot of cis people who will quietly admit they do think men and women are different because that’s just reality, watch someone they know transition, and suddenly go, “Oh my god, I get it now.”

Like yes, this is me being coldly political and thinking about people as examples to make a political point. Everyone’s valid and can do what they want, but some things are just easier for potential converts to wrap their minds around.. “I’m sorting through toys to give to Shelly’s baby. He probably won’t want a princess crown, huh?” “I actually know several people who were considered boys when they were babies and never got one, and are making up for all their lost princess crown time now as adults. You never know what he’ll be into when he grows up.” “…Okay, point. I’ll throw it in there.” Trans and enby people disrupt gender in a really powerful back-of-the-brain way where people suddenly see how much leeway there is between gender and sex.

I honestly believe supporting trans and enby people and queering gender until it’s a macrame project instead of a spectrum are how we’ll get to a gender-free utopia. I think cultural feminism is just the same old shit, inverted. (Confession: in my head, I pronounce “cultural” with emphasis on the “cult” part.) 

I think feminism is like a lot of emergency response groups: Our job is to put ourselves out of a job. It’s not a good thing if gender discrimination is still prevalent and harmful 200 years from now! Obviously we’re not there yet and calls to pack it in and go home are overrated, but as the problem disappears into its solution, we have to accept that our old ways of looking at the world have to shift.

[seductive-elves]

Muses

Kafziel

Species: Angel (my version of an angel has moth like wings and antenna)

Gender: male

Sexuality: hetroromantic, bisexual

Height: 7'0

Background: prince of the Elven kingdom, is a patron of 'the shapeshifters bar and inn.'

Apperance: has a pink and yellow scheme to his wings and body

Lilith

Species: Demon (demons have hooved feet and horns on their heads, and fur over their bodies)

Gender: female

Sexuality: bisexual

Height: 7'2

Background: sister to Damien, is the barmaid at 'the shapeshifters bar and inn.' Is more dominate.

Apperance: his brown fur and hair, red eyes

Damien

Species: Demon

Gender: male

Sexuality: bisexual

Height: 7'3

Background: brother to Lilith, prostitute at 'the shapeshifters bar and Inn.' Likes a rough fuck.

Apperance: reddish brown fur and hair, yellow eyes. Long horns that curl around the back of his head.

Orion

Species: Star elf (these guys have vlueish-black complexion with star shapes along their bodies)

Gender: male

Sexuality: gay

Height: 5'3

Background: prostitute at 'the shapeshifters bar and inn.' Is a bottom. Likes to be treated like a toy.

Apperance: short white hair, stars all over his body, likes to wear tight fitting clothes.

Sylvia and Lin

Species: wood elves, (these guys have skin that looks like bark, and their hair looks like leaves off of a tree.

Gender: female

Sexuality: lesbians

Height: 5'5, 5'8

Background: these two are a package deal, you can't have one without another. Prostitutes at 'the shapeshifters bar and inn.' Loves having threesomes and foursomes. Likes being able to fuck esch other on the job. Lin is a little more on the quiet side, except for when she's getting fucked hard.

Apperance: Sylvia has the bark of a redwood tree, and his more round and pudgy side, Lin has the bark and hair of a willow tree.

Cecilia

Species: human, white

Gender: female

Sexuality: pansexual

Height: 5'4

Background: lost her eye from when her father was abusing her, escaped and came to 'the shapeshifters bar and inn' for refuge. Was taken care of, and eventually became a prostitute there. Is rather aggressive.

Apperance: blond hair that's always pulled back in a loose bun, wears a har when she's off the job. Has pretty green eyes.

Ginger

Species: mermaid

Gender: female

Sexuality: straight

Background: came from the underwater kingdom of Navysia. Isn't a prostitute but is in the kingdom of Acidrial permantly, and being taken care of by a man named Rocco, who is living at 'the shapeshifters bar and Inn. Great at giving blowjobs.

Apperance: long red hair, and scales that goes from her back down to her tail. Has sharp teeth but they're retractable.

[junhyosvngs]

claudia von riegan - the mysterious princess of almyra and daughter of claude and bryce. possesses a minor crest of riegan, prefers bows, rides a wyvern named precious. no one knows where she came from. she has pointed ears and sharp teeth but no one talks about it. 

lilah von hevring - daughter of blyth eisner and linhardt von hevring. often times expressionless, but it’s just because her mind is running at mach 10. very smart. favors dark magic and riding. crest of cethleann. 

valkyrie edmund goneril - biologically, valkyrie is a cousin to hilda who was orphaned at a young age. as she was close with val's mother, hilda offered to take her in when she and her new wife, marianne, settled down. valkyrie is a sweet and gentle person, but has been known to exhibit exceptional deception skills and a firey temper. favors axes and flying. minor crest of goneril.

robin eisner arnault - adopted son of brya eisner and dorothea arnault. was orphaned during the war and taken in by the couple shortly after it’s end. very small. favors axes. no crest. 

elena eisner arnault - daughter of brya eisner and dorothea arnault. loves to sing and dance like her mother. favors swords and magic. very tall. crest of flames.

celeste von bergliez - daughter of ashe ubert and caspar von bergliez. a fierce and fighty young woman with an overly active imagination. celeste loves to read and train and has more energy than any one person should. favors gauntlets and bows.

adelaide von aegir - daughter of ferdinand von aegir and glimmer. certified horse girl. has sworn herself to uphold the highest standard of nobility and also to kiss as many girls as possible. uses lances and bows. minor crest of cichol. 

hawke von aegir - son of ferdinand von aegir and glimmer. chaotic gay nightmare child. favors high places. rides a wyvern. favors axes. 

sylvia marie gautier - born of a one off tryst between sylvain and a barmaid at a tavern near garrag mach, sylvia was left with her father after the war ended when her mother decided she would be better off. raised by sylvain and his partner, felix. favors swords, lances and riding. minor crest of gautier. 

PART 2 ->

[karadndrp]

regrets and mistakes || nari

Nari looks towards her own bedroom door after leaving Thea’s and doesn’t even consider it. She knows what waits for her there — too many thoughts, too many fears. Not enough alcohol to handle the rejection she’s just experienced. So instead of turning left, she turns right, sparing Sera’s room only a short glance before another stab of that harsh, tearing feeling of rejection has her looking away again. She aims for outside, though she knows she isn’t dressed well for it, and when the guard at the door asks where she’s going this time of night, she can only think to say, “I don’t know.” He recommends a tavern, one he says he recommended to one of her friends last night, and Nari wonders only briefly which of her friends it was before pushing out the door.

It’s a strange name, The Twelve Wives, and with her mind deliberately emptied, she’s able to focus on that and the why of it as she goes. Did the owner of this bar truly have twelve wives? Or perhaps twelve wives had banded together to open it. Maybe they were twelve women who would never actually be wives, maybe they had all lost the people they loved, maybe they were broken and confused and so, so hurt and lonely beyond what they knew they were capable of—

She’s outside the tavern quicker than she’d thought she would be and for a moment she stares up at it, arms folded, wondering if she should actually go in. There’s nowhere else to go really. It’s late and the shops are closed, the streets are mostly quiet. Even the inn looks like it’s settled mostly, but nothing of Nari’s feels the same. She is restless in every part of herself, from body to heart, and she finds she wants a drink more than she wants to head back. So she steps inside, quiet and without fuss. The bar patrons are mostly men and despite her effort to go unnoticed, her presence draws attention. She ducks her head and avoids as many eyes as possible, quietly making her way to the bar. She isn’t exactly a commanding presence, though one might think so from her height, the boldness of her hair. What attention she’s garnered shifts direction when it’s clear she isn’t looking for company and Nari makes it to a stool without being bothered.

Is that common? she wonders as she orders a pint. Or is her presence so uninteresting that she only has to look away and no one wants to follow? She wonders as she sits and stares down at the bar top if she’s… unattractive or… maybe just boring. Dull. The only time she feels even remotely interesting is when she is fighting and that isn’t something she can do constantly. It’s something she wants to avoid as much as possible if she can, truth be told, because she doesn’t think fighting should ever be the first choice. It just happens that it’s been her only choice recently. Except now, she thinks as a pint glass is set in front of her. Now she’s just some random girl, tall and awkward, with limbs that are far too long for her body. Sitting in a bar and no doubt looking like she doesn’t belong. She presses a hand down the front of her tunic, glad she hadn’t yet taken her coin purse from her belt, but otherwise feeling quite bare without her armor. Small breasts, shoulders too broad for her body. It was foolish to think that anyone could seriously want anything from her.

Nari drinks, winces at the taste of beer, drinks again. Drinks until the pint is gone and a second is in its place, full and frothy to the brim. She drinks that one too, is about halfway through when the stool beside her slides out. She ignores it until a voice speaks to her, low in timbre and obviously male. “Hey.”

Nari looks up then, more out of manners than interest, eyes sliding across to the pair now watching her. She offers a tight smile and a small nod. “‘Lo,” she mumbles before looking away again, back down into her beer. His elbow hits the bar beside her drink and he tells the barmaid to add Nari’s drinks to his tab, which even Nari understands the significance of. It has her shifting uncomfortably and drinking from her glass, holding it between both palms. But he doesn’t shift closer or crowd her or flirt too overtly. He’s charming actually, and has a nice smile. Nari relaxes in his company, drinks another drink, talks vaguely about her presence in this place. Mostly she turns his questions back on him and lets him fill the silence, not really wanting the conversation but for forge’s sake, girl, you can’t have it both ways. Either you want the attention or you don’t.

It honestly doesn’t surprise her that a woman like Thea, or even like Sera, couldn’t genuinely want her or want to be with her. She’s a confusing mess of a girl with nothing to offer by way of experience or even worldly understanding.

But the boy beside her now is shifting gears, hinting about continuing up in his room, and he’s been nothing but s gentleman all night. She looks at him, the intensity of her gaze softened by alcohol, and doesn’t feel the same pull as she had before. With Sera, with Thea. Not even the lesser pull of other women they’d run into along the way. She looks at him — this charming, friendly boy — and feels nothing. She doesn’t want him, doesn’t want what he wants.

“Okay,” she says, and stands on slightly unsteady legs even as he does. His name is already gone from her head, but she walks just slightly ahead of him with his hand too large and too hot against her back.

She feels nothing.

—-

As the predawn light purples the horizon, Nari finds the edge of the town where the buildings meet forest along a side. The trees along the edge are newer, smaller, but it doesn’t take too many steps inside before the taller ones take over. Nari glances up and up, analyzing, deciding which one looks the most promising. She settles on one with a low-hanging branch and pulls herself up onto it. She’s never climbed a tree before, but she does so now with relative ease and no amount of caution. If a branch breaks and she falls, she can take it. It’d hurt, but it’s not like she’d die. And maybe it’d be good for her, maybe it’d snap her out of whatever this is she’s doing now. Maybe she’ll find her sense and go back to the safehouse again. Back to the people who are her home now. The people she’s promised to stand for and with.

But she makes it to the top of the tree without much effort, almost surprising herself when she finds the top and her head pushes through leaves to find the sky. Nari settles herself on a branch where it curves out almost parallel to the ground, clutching it tightly as she tips her head back and looks up to the sky. She searches for a star, but she’s missed them all for the night. Dawn is too close and they’ve all winked out with her proximity. Nari doesn’t mind. Tonight she does not think even the stars will help settle her mind or heart.

She closes her eyes and finds herself praying, asking the ancients for peace and clarity. She doesn’t know if they answer prayers the same way the gods do, to be honest. Her devotion is more to an ideal than a deity, but there’s still a holiness to it and Nari believes in some sort of Other that hears her when she asks for guidance so it has to be good enough.

Squirming a little on the branch, Nari fishes out a folded piece of parchment and a small bottle of ink, both of which she’d taken from the room at the inn she’d found herself in some time before. From the pouch where her coins sit, she tugs out a quill. Adjusting more comfortably on the branch, she spreads out the parchment on her thigh and begins to write, huffing slightly when the quill’s tip punches a hole here and there.

Dearest Sylvia-

I had thought that perhaps because of my line of work, the path I’ve set myself, it would be better for me to take what I can while I can. It’s likely, isn’t it, that I’ll die doing this? But I think that maybe I was wrong about that after all. I think now that because of what I do, it’s best not to ask for anything at all for myself. It’s safer, isn’t it? I should have taken your advice. I’ve made so many mistakes.

I miss you, Sylvia. I wish you were here. I think you could help me keep my head on straight, but for now I’ll have to keep figuring things out the hard way.

I love you. Best to Rosalie and Yelvin.

Nari

She let the ink dry in the cool air, her eyes wandering to the sky again as she waits. When it sets, she carefully folds it and tucks it, the ink, and the quill into her money pouch again. She would find a raven later in the day to send the letter. 

The sky is going pink now. Nari sighs and rubs her tired eyes, begins to climb down again. She isn’t ready to go back, not yet, and she certainly doesn’t want to stay at the inn. So instead she settles where the branches met the trunk of the tree, securing herself in the cup of them. It’s comfortable enough, or else she’s tired enough not to care.

And with the first rays of sun falling across her skin, Nari falls asleep in the forest, thankful as always that she doesn’t dream.

[kalh-plays-dnd]

Directory

#player character (#rogan underbite, #aurora nyx, #aaria, #zia, #frederick, #niko warren, #viliam)

#npc (#luca myrk, #adelaide merrill, #wish, #maggie the herbalist, #granny peacock, #sylvia the barmaid)

#divine champions

#lore (#macawra, #fundat, #mara)

#session notes cc

#random encounter

#stat block

[deeisace]

@hypnodazed in the notes thank you for telling me where to find these articles, hope nobody minds me adding them on here - thought to do so, because not everyone can find/view them -

29th March 1937 - The Daily Mirror, page 5

ID: newspaper article reading

Girl Becomes Man

Barmaid Ellen Now Barman Alan

From our special correspondent

Crewe, Sunday

After living sixteen years as a girl, Ellen Caldwell, of Martin Street, Crewe, has grown to manhood - and become Alan. At birth Ellen was registered as a girl, attended St Mary's Roman Catholic School and later worked on a milk round, in a bakery, in a wire works and as a barmaid.

Last December Ellen found herself growing a beard, became worried, consulted a doctor. An operation was performed at the Manchester Royal Infirmary, and Ellen, no longer a girl, changed her name.

I met Alan at the Cheese Hall Hotel, Crewe, working as a barman where a short time ago he was a barmaid.

(bold, large print) "I'm glad it's over."

"I'm glad it is all over," said Alan, "and I know just what I am. I shall stay on at the hotel.

When I was a girl, I used to play football, but I have given that up now, although I shall go on playing cricket."

(bold) "As soon as Alan knew he was a boy he wanted to come navvying with me, but I would not allow that," his father told me.

(bold) Stalwart ex-soldier Harold, Alan's brother, said, "Even as a girl he was stronger than I and could always manage me in a tussle."

Mr Clark told me: "As a girl Alan was one of the best servants I ever had."

/End ID.

I hope everyone disappointed with the Daily Post's continual misgendering is glad to see that not every newspaper or reporter is the same, tho I would say, in the kindest possible way, and as a transman myself, you must remember that this is 87 years ago, and we cannot hold people then to our modern standards.

"Navvying" is, so far as I know, digging canals and things like that, heavy manual work.

Also, the Cheese Hall Hotel is the same place Sylvia worked as a barmaid in 1939 - not definitive, until we get the actual record back (I ordered it yesterday), but it adds credence to that that marriage is in fact our same Allen, rather than someone with the same name.

You could take the above as Allen being intersex, but it is true (as I think hypnodazed has said in a reply) that sometimes people lied to get the medical attention they needed, so as ever we can't know for sure. Which is frustrating to say, I suppose, and frustrating to hear, I imagine, but there's nothing to be done about it.

And, on the back page of the same issue -

ID: Ellen Becomes Man

(a photograph of two men walking down the street wearing suits)

After living as a girl for sixteen years, Ellen Caldwell, of Crewe, has had an operation and become Alan.

You see her - or rather, him (wearing a light tie) - in this picture, taken as he was out walking with his brother Harold. See story on page 5. /End ID.

In the olden days they did things so sensibly. Page 8 of The Liverpool Daily Post, 29 March 1937