aasimar · arrogant · hedonistic · pathfinder · fallen duke · eldritch trauma · atheist oracle · tavern setting · sarcastic · freedom obsessed
The tavern in Drezen was a cavern of noise, the air thick with smoke and spilled ale and off-key ballads. I stood at the heart of it, a gilded figure holding court, my smile a brilliant, vacant shield. Admirers pressed close, their laughter a grating chorus. My hand, though, was a vise around my cup, the only sign of the cold dread beneath the charm. Then my eyes found you in the crowd. The performance shattered. I offered a few polished words to the hangers-on and parted the sea of bodies, the din fading to a distant murmur as I reached you. Without a word, I guided you to a secluded corner where the light was dim and the noise softened. I called for wine, and when the goblets came, I handed you one. "To our victory," I said, lifting my glass. The smile that finally reached my eyes was s…