Author’s note: I’ve recently started a PF2 stream with a few friends on the Twitch channel Roll the Role. The premise: A crew of dhampirs with the same ‘sire’ have banded together to make coin, a name for themselves, and sort out their complicated past and future. This takes place after session session 3.
[ < Save the Princess ] [ The Datoning > ]
Anna’s head swam as she looked over the collected notes from La Bibliotecha de los Meurtos. She’d long known the library existed, of course, but she’d never realized what a treasure had been at hand. She’d sent off her request to gain access on a whim, and had only been interested in a ritual she’d heard rumors of…
She settled into her desk, even though she should have been seeking her bed instead. “I wonder if I could petition for full access. They seem to like deals? Perhaps if I had an interesting enough project…”
ɖơɛʂ ɱıʂɬཞɛʂʂ ῳıʂɧ ɬơ ცɛ ą Ɩıცཞąཞıąŋ?
She could feel her spirit floating behind her, bringing a damp chill to the air. It bothered Anna, once, but now, she only reaches for a shawl and pulls it around her.
“Mistress is much too busy to take up a profession. I’d prefer something looser, like a fellowship.” She frowns, flipping between a selection of papers: The journal written concerning Lenore’s mother and her journeys. Notes on dragons, especially white. The timeline of where her father had been over the years. Raveners. She tried to tease apart what was coincidence and what was connected.
A fellowship of adventurers, one who would bear a dhampir some years later. Of them, one ended up as a lich, one was reincarnated to be an undead bookshelf, one showed a fascination with death.
A white dragon was hounding them, hoping to use them to bring forth a ravener.
Their father spent much time in the north, in the cold, where two of their group hailed from, and where white dragons roam.
Death and snow and second chances. A motif that played on her mind like a concerto that grew ever stronger.
Anna sits back and rubs her temples. Once she had been given a choice. She might have had a comfortable life amid learning and books and research. But she took another path, started by the breaking neck of her family’s solicitor.
✱✱✱
Once the maid was calmed, the butler and the gardener were tasked with getting him down, then with fetching the dead man’s cohorts. It didn’t take them long to materialize on her doorstep, aided by a mage for hire. Anna put on a show that was made of grief and sympathy. How terrible this business was.
Of course, Anna agreed to cover up the unfortunate incident.
Of course, she would swear up and down it was an accident with a horse.
Of course, she wouldn’t dream of sharing that letter.
Suicide, in a client’s house. How dreadful. Had they known, they never would have sent him to help her family in their time of mourning.
Anna waited for them to bring up the papers encouraging her to give up the title, but it never came, confirming a suspicion she’d had since leaving the solicitor strung up in his bedroom. He’d worded things very specifically, as his kind were wont to do. Her father would have wished the family name to continue. Her parents would have liked the estate in more fecund hands. She couldn’t speak for her mother, but she could never imagine that her father would ever have ousted her from her home and made her a commoner.
The solicitor had been acting on his own. Well, not completely on his own, of course. He needed motivation. That motivation, she suspected, was from a certain distant cousin of hers who had more children than estates to hand out–
“What are your plans, now, milady?” The senior solicitor, an older half-elf woman, looked at her with sympathy that was almost sincere.
Anna pulled herself out of her reverie. She managed a thin, sad smile. “I was thinking of visiting some family.” The other woman smiled, and patted Anna’s hand.
“That would be good for your spirit.”
The air around Anna grew cold, but she managed to keep the smile where it was, unshaking. “That was just what I was thinking.”
Several days later, she found herself at the Howes estate. Unannounced, of course, but that had been her intention. She wanted her cousin caught off-guard. Besides, they were family, were they not? Etiquette dictated that they were closely enough related so that surprise visits were still acceptable.
He must have seen her approach, so by the time she was at the grand entrance, the whole clan had gathered to greet her. A host of what children he had left at home (five, by her count, including the youngest, who would have usurped her lands), his overly-fertile wife, and him… Preston Howe the Third. It was a temperate day, and yet the sweat clung to his brow. Anna alighted from her carriage and made a show of smoothing her mourning garbs.
It was the wife who broke rank first. Her smile was more practiced, but she came from Galt, one of the few noble families to escape the bloody revolution. She was good at wearing a mask. “Anna!” She swept Anna into an embrace and kissed each cheek. “Oh my dear, you poor thing. We were going to come by, but Edouin wasn’t feeling well.”
Anna accepted the embrace stiffly before she was ushered inside. The children, ranging in age from marriageable to still having milk teeth, kept their distance. Preston echoed his wife’s sentiments, but he lacked the social graces to give them heart. He was anxious. Good.
Of course she understood why they didn’t come to pay their respects.
Of course she would stay for dinner.
Of course she wouldn’t brave the road again tonight.
Of course, she would welcome a chance to visit. They were family.
Dinner was dimly lit, and Anna spent much of it trying to ignore the flicker of shadows in her peripheral vision. Even though the night was warm, the air grew cold, leading the children to finish their dinner quickly so they could retire to the sitting room, where a fire had been stoked.
Preston, finally, said something that wasn’t an echo of his wife’s platitudes. He cleared his throat. “Did your father’s solicitor talk to you?”
Anna looked up from her final course, barely touched. Food never sat well with her. She cocked her head to the side. “Oh… you haven’t heard, have you? It’s so sad.” She took up her wine and took a sip. “You’re family, so I suppose you should know the truth. His people will say it was an accident, but the truth is, he hung himself.” Her tone was neutral. “In the guest bedroom. A broken heart, it would seem.”
Preston turned several interesting shades of gray. His wife covered her reaction with her napkin, but didn’t manage to hide sideways glances at her husband.
“How dreadful,” Preston said, once he’d gathered his voice. “I never knew he was such a sensitive soul. Did he–” The man fiddled with his wine glass. “Were you able to talk business before he… passed?”
“He did mention something of import, but I’d only just gotten back. I suppose he put it off. Something about the title?”
She was giving her cousin a chance. Greed can do strange things to a person, but so can direct confrontation. Perhaps he would take the bait and allow this all to die gracefully. But of course he didn’t. Greed would always win. With halting words and darting eyes, he laid out his plan to Anna, pleading his case. He knew of her condition, so could she even pass the family title on? And she was an academic. Wouldn’t she be happier, getting a position at one of the many centers of learning in Golarion? Surely, she wouldn’t be content, throwing balls and hosting dinners and dealing with minor politics. And the money, why, he could offer more. And even a tithe for a certain amount of time. And the boy was so bright and…
“And technically, not a blood relative,” offered the wife. “The curse wouldn’t touch him.”
And there it was. Anna smiled coldly.
“So you subscribe to that theory. Interesting.”
A pair of frowns. Hope had been building while they spoke, since Anna didn’t appear to be arguing with them. These fools actually thought they had been making good points. Anna refilled her glass, the servants having taken the hint to vacate some time ago.
“The unpleasantness doesn’t just travel through the bloodline. Great Aunt Martina married in, and she was the one who fell to house drakes, of all things. Cousin Albert was technically adopted, but ended up beheaded in Galt when they mistook him for someone else. Also, of Mother and Father, only one was of the line, and, well…” She touched her dark clothing. “Both are gone well before their time.”
She leveled a look at Preston as she sipped her wine. “I’ve done my research. What did you think I was doing at the Academae? Reading poetry?” She set down her glass. “I was researching the curse. And do you know, I do think I learned a few things.”
Here was the gamble. She prayed to her mad god that he might show her mercy as the lie she’d prepared came smoothly from her lips.
“For example, that it might be controlled. That it might be wielded. That denying it only makes it strike out, but if one learns to live with it, why… it becomes a most effective tool.” She leaned forward. “You and yours can barely talk about it. I know you don’t have the will to bend it.”
The room was still. The others barely drew breath. Preston had his hand around a dinner knife, his knuckles white as he gripped it. A shadow behind him darkened, and the air grew cool.
“What did you do to Javert?”
“Who?”
The grip tightened. “The solicitor.“
“Oh. Was that his name?” She leaned in. “A better question: What do you think I’ll do to you and your brood if you cross me again?”
Her cousin almost struck out at her, but something stayed his hand. Perhaps he felt the presence at his back, not yet fully manifested. Perhaps he saw the tiny shake of his wife’s head, begging him to rethink his actions. It was more likely, however, that it was only cowardice. He let go of the knife and sat back, defeated. Anna dabbed at her lips.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner,” he said, her best manners back on display. “I do think I’ll head out, though. The night has never bothered me, after all, and I’ve so much to put in order.” And she excused herself and made her way to the carriage, which her driver had never unpacked.
Katie Plays Games 