Recommencer (3/2) - Jaezred
Jul 4, 2021 10:11:34 GMT
Merla, the Daughter of Summer and Anthony like this
Post by Jaezred Vandree on Jul 4, 2021 10:11:34 GMT
Jaezred was quite sure he’d seen that face before. The slender spring eladrin with cropped, dark blonde hair and a single copper braid woven in, wearing green robes with swirling vine patterns, stood inside the Pierre-Vielle mansion’s ballroom, listening to some Darite aristocrats chat amongst themselves. Staring at her longer than is polite, he tried to remember the grand opening day of Fort Ettin — quite right, this was the same smug, troublemaking witch who kidnapped the poor halfling ambassador, attempted to bewitch their party, and fled before she could be taken in for questioning.
Soon enough, the witch noticed his gaze on her. She turned her head towards him and, in her green eyes, there was that look of recognition first, then irritation. At that moment, any doubts Jaezred might have had evaporated instantly.
She took a cocktail glass from a nearby servant and walked away with her back to him. It’s too late, though. He was determined to foil her plans, whatever they may be, tonight.
However, there were rules of propriety to be followed first. Jaezred made his way to one of the two hosts of the party — the dragonblood half-elf Genine Pierre-Vielle, sitting alone on the sofa in the easternmost side of the room, whilst her elder sister Amélie entertained some other guests. The dark elf introduced himself to Lady Genine and made pleasant small talk on wine and art.
“Quite an esteemed group of guests you and your sister have gathered here,” he remarked. “Are you personally acquainted with everyone on the list?”
“Ah, non. I’ve not met Lord Jean Auber or Lady Imryll before tonight,” replied Genine, motioning at the two figures in the room.
“Lady Imryll, is it?” Jaezred’s eyes trailed the witch as she walked across the room. “Is she from the Feywild?”
“I believe so.”
The party was slowly and steadily going into full swing. Most of the guests were members of the nobility and the gentry — as expected — and scattered among them were the few adventurers who answered the invitation. There were members of the Daring Council, that young genteel tradesman from Amn, the cowardly half-sea elf who thinks too highly of himself, playing the piano, and some faces Jaezred did not recognise. However, there was only one person in the ballroom whom he was truly interested in talking to.
A group was forming around Amélie Pierre-Vielle and a gnome who brought a chicken into the mansion. Imryll had joined the group, quietly sipping her drink amongst the gawking guests. She must have sensed him coming because she turned before he could call her name and regarded him with a frosty stare.
“What a strange coincidence, running into you again!” he said with the most smug air he could possibly muster. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced last time we met. I am Lord Jaezred Vandree of Menzoberranzan.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The tone of her voice could have lowered the temperature of the entire room. It was clear she did not want him there.
But it seemed fortune was favouring the bold tonight, for in that moment the musicians began playing the first notes of a waltz. This was also apparent to the other revelers, who started to scatter and form pairs amongst themselves. Jaezred seized the opportunity and extended towards her an upturned palm. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked sweetly.
He could see it in her eyes that she absolutely hated the notion. And yet, perhaps out of a desire to avoid appearing impolite, the witch gave her hand. With gentlemanly elegance, he escorted Imryll to the dance floor, where they exchanged bows before he held up their joined hands and placed his other hand on her waist. They spun and swayed slowly to the music.
“Now that you’ve trapped me for several minutes,” she said, “what do you want with me?”
“Fortunately for you, tonight I’m not being paid to sniff out troublemakers. But I can tell you’re here to cause trouble.” He leaned in next to her ear. “You have the stench of the Feywild on you.”
“Oh, but I can hardly help it. And you smell of the dirt you crawled out of.”
The grin on his face grew wider. This was stimulating. “Very good,” he chuckled. “Seeing you here reminds me of that day — the day Fort Ettin opened its gates for the first time...Now, I don’t think you were involved in the death of that fey queen, were you? What was her name again...Sarah?”
“Don’t be coy, Lord Jaezred. You know her name. The fact that you’re pretending not to be interested makes me want to stab you in the eye with a toothpick, but I don’t want to get blood on the floor...”
“A toothpick? Are you sure cold iron isn’t your preferred method?"
A pause. “No, that’s way too…tricky.” She looked thoughtfully at him. “Too many variables. What if you didn’t drink it? Better to get your hands a little dirty and get the job done.”
“So what are you here for then?”
“The ball, why else? What are you here for?”
“The ball. So that makes two of us.”
The party went on with more drinking and dancing, and occasionally drinking whilst dancing. The half-elf paladin with the golden locks had fallen asleep and was carried off into a bedroom, the sea elf bard was flirting with any woman he could find, the gnome and the white dragonborn decided to have a fashion design competition, et cetera.
Meanwhile, Lord Jaezred had given himself a mission for the night. If and when he saw Imryll talking to someone, he would gracefully insert himself into the conversation and, with expert subtlety, divert it to a topic of his choosing — the liquor, the music, the (admittedly hideous) painting on the wall, or whatever else he could think up on the spot. This would inevitably result in Imryll discreetly shooting him looks of murder and moving away somewhere else, only for Jaezred to reappear at her side moments later.
However, at some point in this little game, she seemed to begin to...enjoy it. For underneath the annoyed glares she gave him each time he ruined a conversation for her, he picked up a little coyness, a small excitement as she got away and he pursued, like a huntsman after a prize deer.
He enjoyed that very much.
During the time he followed her around, Jaezred took note of the one guest she appeared to be keeping tabs on: a male elf of a certain aquatic and wintry persuasion and a decidedly fey air about him. He was overheard speaking to some merchants, something about imports and retrievals.
Eyes on the elf, he leaned over to Imryll and whispered, “So are you looking for a riverside house or a winter cottage?”
“Me?” answered the witch. “Neither. Rivers are tempestuous, are they not? One might fall in.”
“Well, if you’re looking to sleep with the fishes, as they say, I could help you with that.”
She stabbed an olive in her drink with a toothpick and danced away.
Midnight was approaching, and Jean Auber was boorishly snoring away on a chair. Jaezred was too busy admiring the embarrassing scene to notice that Imryll had gone out to the terrace to speak with the mysterious male elf. When he spotted them, they had just ceased their council and were returning to the ballroom separately. Looking quite pleased with herself, she gave Jaezred a playful wink.
Admittedly, that made him a little miffed. And the alcohol had begun to take an effect on him, so he went to talk to the elf himself. The sorcerer thus learned three things: first, that he was called Diomenos Am; second, that he was in the import-export trade in the Feywild; and third, that he was a man trained in the art of discretion, and therefore gave nothing away.
He had no choice but to accept defeat. He rejoined Imryll, who seemed relaxed the entire time.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he said.
“I’m sure they would be...if you had them.” She smiled a roguish grin. “For now, have another drink. I’m sure it’s a good substitute.”
“Keen eye,” muttered Jaezred. “Well, your other secret is safe with me.”
“And what might that be?”
“Your trip to Fort Ettin on that fateful day.”
She considered him for a moment. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to repay you somehow.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“I won’t stab you in the eye with this toothpick.”
Now he was smiling back at her. “And I’ll try not to counter your spells next time. But I probably will. It was quite fun.”
“I’d rather leave that one behind. Now, wine or brandy?”
“Brandy.”
She turned briefly to fetch a glass of fine brandy from a passing servant and handed it to Jaezred. He looked at it, then back at her, and waved one hand over the mouth of the glass as he casted detect magic. Nothing.
“I told you, I don’t deal in poisons,” the eladrin said. “I prefer to get my hands dirty.”
Finally, the ball was coming to a close. Lady Amélie delivered a speech thanking the adventurers and her business associates and invited the guests to come to the balcony for “a little surprise”.
As the crowd ambled out onto the terrace, Jaezred offered his arm to Imryll. He wasn’t sure what made him do that; perhaps he had too much to drink. But she took it, and they walked outside together.
The balcony provided a good view of the mansion gardens, in which stood a shrine to Tiamat. The household staff set off a burst of fireworks that lit up the night sky in a spectacular fashion, and the glow from them outlined Imryll’s profile.
It was a beautiful sight. The fireworks, that is.
After they exited the mansion, he offered to cast banishment on her for a quick way back to the Feywild. In response, Imryll winked, flipped him off, then disappeared in a puff of mist.
Lord Jaezred smiled to himself. He walked back to the Four Fair Winds alone that night, humming a waltz the whole way.
Soon enough, the witch noticed his gaze on her. She turned her head towards him and, in her green eyes, there was that look of recognition first, then irritation. At that moment, any doubts Jaezred might have had evaporated instantly.
She took a cocktail glass from a nearby servant and walked away with her back to him. It’s too late, though. He was determined to foil her plans, whatever they may be, tonight.
However, there were rules of propriety to be followed first. Jaezred made his way to one of the two hosts of the party — the dragonblood half-elf Genine Pierre-Vielle, sitting alone on the sofa in the easternmost side of the room, whilst her elder sister Amélie entertained some other guests. The dark elf introduced himself to Lady Genine and made pleasant small talk on wine and art.
“Quite an esteemed group of guests you and your sister have gathered here,” he remarked. “Are you personally acquainted with everyone on the list?”
“Ah, non. I’ve not met Lord Jean Auber or Lady Imryll before tonight,” replied Genine, motioning at the two figures in the room.
“Lady Imryll, is it?” Jaezred’s eyes trailed the witch as she walked across the room. “Is she from the Feywild?”
“I believe so.”
The party was slowly and steadily going into full swing. Most of the guests were members of the nobility and the gentry — as expected — and scattered among them were the few adventurers who answered the invitation. There were members of the Daring Council, that young genteel tradesman from Amn, the cowardly half-sea elf who thinks too highly of himself, playing the piano, and some faces Jaezred did not recognise. However, there was only one person in the ballroom whom he was truly interested in talking to.
A group was forming around Amélie Pierre-Vielle and a gnome who brought a chicken into the mansion. Imryll had joined the group, quietly sipping her drink amongst the gawking guests. She must have sensed him coming because she turned before he could call her name and regarded him with a frosty stare.
“What a strange coincidence, running into you again!” he said with the most smug air he could possibly muster. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced last time we met. I am Lord Jaezred Vandree of Menzoberranzan.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The tone of her voice could have lowered the temperature of the entire room. It was clear she did not want him there.
But it seemed fortune was favouring the bold tonight, for in that moment the musicians began playing the first notes of a waltz. This was also apparent to the other revelers, who started to scatter and form pairs amongst themselves. Jaezred seized the opportunity and extended towards her an upturned palm. “May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked sweetly.
He could see it in her eyes that she absolutely hated the notion. And yet, perhaps out of a desire to avoid appearing impolite, the witch gave her hand. With gentlemanly elegance, he escorted Imryll to the dance floor, where they exchanged bows before he held up their joined hands and placed his other hand on her waist. They spun and swayed slowly to the music.
“Now that you’ve trapped me for several minutes,” she said, “what do you want with me?”
“Fortunately for you, tonight I’m not being paid to sniff out troublemakers. But I can tell you’re here to cause trouble.” He leaned in next to her ear. “You have the stench of the Feywild on you.”
“Oh, but I can hardly help it. And you smell of the dirt you crawled out of.”
The grin on his face grew wider. This was stimulating. “Very good,” he chuckled. “Seeing you here reminds me of that day — the day Fort Ettin opened its gates for the first time...Now, I don’t think you were involved in the death of that fey queen, were you? What was her name again...Sarah?”
“Don’t be coy, Lord Jaezred. You know her name. The fact that you’re pretending not to be interested makes me want to stab you in the eye with a toothpick, but I don’t want to get blood on the floor...”
“A toothpick? Are you sure cold iron isn’t your preferred method?"
A pause. “No, that’s way too…tricky.” She looked thoughtfully at him. “Too many variables. What if you didn’t drink it? Better to get your hands a little dirty and get the job done.”
“So what are you here for then?”
“The ball, why else? What are you here for?”
“The ball. So that makes two of us.”
The party went on with more drinking and dancing, and occasionally drinking whilst dancing. The half-elf paladin with the golden locks had fallen asleep and was carried off into a bedroom, the sea elf bard was flirting with any woman he could find, the gnome and the white dragonborn decided to have a fashion design competition, et cetera.
Meanwhile, Lord Jaezred had given himself a mission for the night. If and when he saw Imryll talking to someone, he would gracefully insert himself into the conversation and, with expert subtlety, divert it to a topic of his choosing — the liquor, the music, the (admittedly hideous) painting on the wall, or whatever else he could think up on the spot. This would inevitably result in Imryll discreetly shooting him looks of murder and moving away somewhere else, only for Jaezred to reappear at her side moments later.
However, at some point in this little game, she seemed to begin to...enjoy it. For underneath the annoyed glares she gave him each time he ruined a conversation for her, he picked up a little coyness, a small excitement as she got away and he pursued, like a huntsman after a prize deer.
He enjoyed that very much.
During the time he followed her around, Jaezred took note of the one guest she appeared to be keeping tabs on: a male elf of a certain aquatic and wintry persuasion and a decidedly fey air about him. He was overheard speaking to some merchants, something about imports and retrievals.
Eyes on the elf, he leaned over to Imryll and whispered, “So are you looking for a riverside house or a winter cottage?”
“Me?” answered the witch. “Neither. Rivers are tempestuous, are they not? One might fall in.”
“Well, if you’re looking to sleep with the fishes, as they say, I could help you with that.”
She stabbed an olive in her drink with a toothpick and danced away.
Midnight was approaching, and Jean Auber was boorishly snoring away on a chair. Jaezred was too busy admiring the embarrassing scene to notice that Imryll had gone out to the terrace to speak with the mysterious male elf. When he spotted them, they had just ceased their council and were returning to the ballroom separately. Looking quite pleased with herself, she gave Jaezred a playful wink.
Admittedly, that made him a little miffed. And the alcohol had begun to take an effect on him, so he went to talk to the elf himself. The sorcerer thus learned three things: first, that he was called Diomenos Am; second, that he was in the import-export trade in the Feywild; and third, that he was a man trained in the art of discretion, and therefore gave nothing away.
He had no choice but to accept defeat. He rejoined Imryll, who seemed relaxed the entire time.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he said.
“I’m sure they would be...if you had them.” She smiled a roguish grin. “For now, have another drink. I’m sure it’s a good substitute.”
“Keen eye,” muttered Jaezred. “Well, your other secret is safe with me.”
“And what might that be?”
“Your trip to Fort Ettin on that fateful day.”
She considered him for a moment. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to repay you somehow.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“I won’t stab you in the eye with this toothpick.”
Now he was smiling back at her. “And I’ll try not to counter your spells next time. But I probably will. It was quite fun.”
“I’d rather leave that one behind. Now, wine or brandy?”
“Brandy.”
She turned briefly to fetch a glass of fine brandy from a passing servant and handed it to Jaezred. He looked at it, then back at her, and waved one hand over the mouth of the glass as he casted detect magic. Nothing.
“I told you, I don’t deal in poisons,” the eladrin said. “I prefer to get my hands dirty.”
Finally, the ball was coming to a close. Lady Amélie delivered a speech thanking the adventurers and her business associates and invited the guests to come to the balcony for “a little surprise”.
As the crowd ambled out onto the terrace, Jaezred offered his arm to Imryll. He wasn’t sure what made him do that; perhaps he had too much to drink. But she took it, and they walked outside together.
The balcony provided a good view of the mansion gardens, in which stood a shrine to Tiamat. The household staff set off a burst of fireworks that lit up the night sky in a spectacular fashion, and the glow from them outlined Imryll’s profile.
It was a beautiful sight. The fireworks, that is.
After they exited the mansion, he offered to cast banishment on her for a quick way back to the Feywild. In response, Imryll winked, flipped him off, then disappeared in a puff of mist.
Lord Jaezred smiled to himself. He walked back to the Four Fair Winds alone that night, humming a waltz the whole way.
